Love and Colorblindness
by Gobsmacked82
Summary: We're coming up on the first anniversary of the release of "Sparkle," Whitney Houston's last film. I can think of several ways to mark the occasion … but I thought you all might enjoy this one best. Let's see what happens when Emma crosses paths again with an old flame.
1. Chapter 1

**Los Angeles**

**Late 1971**

Years after Emma's daughter Sparkle delivers her performance at the Detroit Grand Theater, her career picks up momentum again. She has a record deal, and is busy writing and performing songs for a new album, plus performing in theaters all over the country. She has a few gigs out in the L.A. area, and has invited her mother out for a visit.

She insists that her mother stay at her rented house, and picks her up at the airport herself to drive her there. While they drive along, Emma listens contentedly as Sparkle talks about her temporary neighborhood, colleagues and her touring schedule.

Then Sparkle clears her throat and says they'll be stopping at the Hilton for lunch with an old friend.

"Really, baby, who?"

"Well, someone who's familiar to both of us, although you know him better than I do," Sparkle shifts a little in her seat.

"Watch the road, honey," Emma says. She straightens the knot in her head scarf and looks at her reflection in the side mirror. "Well, who is it? Cat got your tongue?"

"He asked me not to say," Sparkle says, quickly looking over at her mother. "It's supposed to be a surprise."

"Lord, you girls and your surprises," Emma shakes her head. "Is it another secret career?"

"No, momma. Of course not! My hands are full with this one."

"What about your sister Dolores the doctor? Don't tell me she's signed up to be an astronaut or a test pilot now."

"Momma, please! You can be so hilarious sometimes!"

"And don't get me started on Sister," Emma sighs. "Last time I saw her I think she had a tattoo. I swear she's either turning into the baddest momma in that place or she's going to be running it soon. Or both!"

"Ma-ma! The language," Sparkle covers her mouth in mock surprise.

"All my girls are doing something big," Emma gestures, sweeping her arms up and out. "Not one of you has settled down with a nice Christian man, yet. What is the problem?"

"Well with the example we had …" Sparkle begins, but then she regrets it.

"I beg your pardon?"

Sparkle hastily explains that she only meant that her mother successfully raised three daughters without marrying any man, much less a Christian one.

"You never married, momma," Sparkle points out. "And we all made it out OK, for the most part. We're alright, thanks to you. You never needed a man."

Emma simply huffs and smooths out her dress. She wore a pale blue sheath dress with a tailored blazer for the flight from Detroit to Los Angeles, and since her daughter had booked a first-class ticket for her, she figured she would throw on a pair of bone-colored heels, too, instead of flats. Emma had turned heads, walking onto the airplane, and it wasn't just because she was a black woman flying first class. At 46, she was still arrestingly beautiful. The man in the seat next to her helped her settle in, and every time the stewardess moved to hand Emma a glass of water (she didn't drink alcohol), a warm towel or her tray, he insisted on relaying it to her.

When she gets to the baggage claim, she slips off her blazer and holds it over her slim toned arms. The sight of a trim, elegant, poised and gorgeous Black woman in large sunglasses flying first class sparks brief tittering whispers about who she could be. Especially when a vaguely familiar young woman comes to pick her up.

_Is that Diahann Carroll? No, the chin is a bit stronger than Diahann's. Could it be Leslie Uggams? No. Not quite the same complexion. Diana Ross? Oh no! Dianna would never pick up her own luggage! And doesn't she usually travel with a staff?_

Emma is aware of the stares; beautiful women usually are. If only people knew that this intriguing woman _had_ needed a man all those years. At least, she could have used an ally to negotiate with the car mechanic, deal with caulking the drafty windows during the raw Michigan winters, or attend parent-teacher conferences so the girls' teachers knew that _someone_ other than their mother and grandmother cared. A husband and father would have made the last 30 years so much easier on her.

After Sparkle and Emma get to the hotel, Sparkle leaves the car with the valet.

"Are you sure you don't want to just park it yourself, sweet—" Sparkle's look stops her mother cold. Emma hadn't been in California for more than two hours and already with the advice.

They walk past a Black doorman, who nods at Sparkle as he opens the door. Emma nods back. Then they spot the concierge, who leads them to the restaurant. Sparkle straightens the belt on her own outfit as she introduces her mother and makes small talk with him.

"Stand up straight, darling," Emma gently nudges the small of her daughter's back. "Such a tall and elegant girl, but you hide it with those bad habits."

"Momma, please," Sparkle pleads. "I don't need two parents telling me this and telling me that all the way through lunch."

"Two what?"

Just then, the concierge stops at a large round booth and holds his hands out to the table.

"Ladies, your party Frank Weber is already waiting for you," he says cheerfully.

Emma feels the blood leave her cheeks. The concierge steps away just as Frank, Sparkle and Sisters' father, stands up wearing a pleasant smile. He has on a finely tailored dark suit and wing tips. His hair is a bit grayer than when she last saw him 10 years previously, thinner, too but it is stylishly cut and suits him.

Frank? Here in L.A. and no one told her? Sparkle trots up to him and hugged him tightly.

"Dad, you beat us here!" He squeezes her for a few moments and plants several kisses on her cheeks.

Emma stands bolted to the floor. Were it not for her sunglasses, which she actually forgot to remove, she might have slain him on the spot with daggers.

"Emma? How are you?" Frank extends his right hand to her, but she just looks down at it, still reeling from seeing him in the flesh again. Seeing his blue eyes and hearing his native California drawl reawakened the same emotions that flung her headlong into a love that took her 30 years to get over. It was too much then, and now …

Emma spins around and marches away from the table, looking around for the ladies room. She needs a cigarette, a drink, and thinking of Frank's face … maybe pair of boxing gloves! For now, she would settle for a cigarette in the bathroom. Once Emma makes it into the anteroom, she drops her handbag on a chair and tries to calm herself. She is mumbling and pacing, plotting ways to get away, to get back to the guest house, call her travel agent and book a flight right back to Detroit. Sit there and eat with Frank? No way!

After a few more moments, Sparkle follows Emma into the anteroom. Her mother has lit a cigarette and is holding it up with her arms crossed.

"Momma!" Sparkle barely utters her plea before Emma smashes the cigarette in a nearby ashtray. Then she rubs her hand across her face and grabs her daughter by the arms.

"We have got to leave RIGHT NOW, Sparkle! I will not sit down and break bread with that man! How could you not tell me we would be eating with … him?"

Sparkle is caught completely off guard. She looks around her, searching for words until she merely utters the first ones that come to her mind.

"He asked me not to say anything. That was the only way I could get him to come," Sparkle says. "That's weird, too, because he pretty much said the same thing about you."

"Excuse _me,_" Emma huffs. "He doesn't want to sit down and eat with me? After what he _put us through_?"

"That didn't come out right, Momma," Sparkle presses her hands to her temples. "He said this might happen. He warned me that the minute you saw him, you would hate his guts all over again."

Emma has folded her arms over her belly, and is squinting at Sparkle. The poor girl, meanwhile, is wringing her hands, determined to find a way to get her parents to talk. Emma speaks first. "Have you been talking to your father about me?"

"We've been talking about a lot of things, momma," Sparkle says at last. "First thing is, he's really sorry about the past. But I shouldn't be the one giving you that message. He's right out there waiting for us. You need to hear it from him."

Emma relents, mainly because she is starving. In any case, Sparkle refuses to call a car for Emma, and she won't hear of her mother driving herself to the house so that she can make herself a sandwich.

"We're having lunch together, momma, because we are a … family … of sorts," Sparkle says.

'Well, he had better watch his mouth," Emma mumbles, opening a powder compact and pressing the applicator to the shiny parts of her face. She snaps the compact shut, throws it back into her bag and rifles around for her lip balm with such force that Sparkle flinches slightly.

At last, Sparkle talks her out of the lounge area and back to the restaurant. Emma watches as Frank lets Sparkle slide into the booth. Then he moves to let Emma in, too. She moves past him, barely glancing at him as she settles in.

For a few minutes, no one says anything. Only the sounds of water sloshing into their glasses as the waiter pours, and of Sparkle clearing her throat, break the silence.

"Well, this is a treat," Frank smiles after the waiter leaves. "Lunch with two of my favorite ladies. Sparkle, you're turning into a beautiful woman. Emma, as usual, you're radiant."

Emma tries to start off on the right foot, to take Frank's speech as a compliment, but her mood has taken a turn for the worse. Not even for the sake of her youngest child, the one who takes after her so much, can she soften. Not today. She looks Frank straight in the eye and says:

"Let's get one thing straight, Frank!" Emma says, straightening her back and waving her finger at him. "After this trip out to California, neither one of us is leaving with any souvenirs. No panties for you, and no tears for me!"


	2. California Chill

_**Hello Emma & Frank shippers. As it turns out, I had a chapter in my head ready to go! LOL. Let's dive righ tin to see what happened during that lunch ... ** _

* * *

_A few moments earlier ..._

Frank is sitting at a booth unaware of the stares he is drawing from several ladies in the room. The crackling of patrons taking drags on their cigarettes, croonings of Nat King Cole, and even the way the sunlight pours in dramatically from the wide open windows to illuminate everyone's crystal and fine watches and jewelry all go unnoticed. Only the scotch neat sitting in front of him holds his attention.

Was it a mistake to agree to have lunch with Emma and Sparkle? Their last parting seemed so painful and final, he didn't think she would ever have another civil word for him in his life. He supposed he deserved some of her ire, no, a lot. OK, maybe all. And after 18 years, after the final walkout when Sparkle was just four years old, Delores seven and Sister nine, he didn't dare hope that a single live ember of attraction or affection existed within Emma for him.

Frank sighs and begins to cower. This was a mistake, he thinks. Emma would slap him and cuss him out, in that order. In front of everyone here. It would be too much.

Maybe he and Sparkle should continue working on being a father and daughter, and leave Emma out of it, he thinks. They had gotten off to a pleasant start in their attempt to reconnect. He read about "Sister and Her Sisters," an up and coming girl group performing at local Detroit supper clubs, from a friend who flew out there for business occasionally. Frank knew it was his girls from his friend's description.

"The oldest, Sister, is a real looker. Then you have Delores, the middle one. She's a beauty, too, with class and sass," Frank's friend said, making him smile knowing it was Emma in her. "And then there's Sparkle. Pretty, shy. Tall girl. And they say she writes all the songs!"

It made him determined to reestablish contact with his girls. Then, abruptly, they disappeared. Only after tracking down a kid named Stix - a smart, driven guy not unlike himself at that age - and insisting that he set up a meeting, only after six months of waiting and hoping, did Stix call him back. Their first meeting was awkward, to say the least. Frank only wondered what a smart colored boy like Stix thought about this pushy, nosy, white guy too scared to call a handful of females on his own. But his sacrifice of pride and patience was rewarded. He, Stix and Sparkle met at a house he rented in Detroit, to avoid the nosy stares of strangers, looking at the older white man with the young black man and the mixed young lady. His friend recommended a lady from a local church, the New Hope Baptist, who could cook meals. Apparently, she cooked plated dinners and sold them at the church every second and fourth Sunday. What pleased Frank was that she didn't gossip. So she agreed to stop by and make a nice dinner, yet not tell anyone that he was in town to see Sparkle.

On the night they agreed to meet, Sparkle was a revelation getting out of the car while he watched from the living room window. She was a taller, more solid version of Emma for sure, but a little more nervous. No, she didn't take after Emma with the attitude at all. He saw Emma's nose, his jawline, and even his own mother's own round eyes in Sparkle. She was _their daughter_, and she was beautiful. He eagerly opened the door for them, stepping over the cook, who huffed and walked quickly back to the kitchen wondering at this nervous white man.

She was politely affectionate, hugging him like she would a ... well, a father she could barely remember. He fixed them light drinks, and after they sat down, proceeded to gently pry information out of Sparkle as she sat and sipped. He lit up when he heard that Delores was in medical school, and excused himself to wash tears out of his eyes when he heard about Sister's troubles. She would look at the floor sometimes, or smile and look right at him, devastating him with her younger version of her mother's beauty. During dinner, he could tell that Sparkle and Stix were holding hands under the table, probably to calm Sparkle's nerves. Frank squirmed and stuttered through some of her questions. She didn't ask any hard ones like 'Why weren't you there?' or 'Do I have any other brothers and sisters?'

Those answers would come later. At that point, Stix told Sparkle that Frank wanted to help cover the costs of the showcase at the theater. Frank gladly wrote them a check, which Stix said put them "just over the top" of their budget. Her performance at the Detroit Theater unearthed more mixed emotions. She was stunning in that red dress, although it wasn't the blue one she had told him about. She looked like Emma, sang like Emma. Her range and power were a perfect duplication of Emma's, although he noticed that it lacked a little something special. It didn't matter, because Emma was such a special talent, he was sure that had she pursued a full-time career, no one would have been able to touch her. Wasn't fair to compare the two, Anyway, Sparkle's song "One Wing," sent chills up and down his spine. From the balcony, he could see Emma practically catching the Holy Ghost cheering on their daughter. Their daughter. But it hurt him that he couldn't share that moment with both of them, or attend the after party. He had to settle for dinner the next night, as Columbia Records swept Sparkle up the next day to start negotiations for a record deal.

He wanted so much to congratulate Emma on the job she did with Sparkle. Surely, she taught her daughter to sing, and it was clear that Emma had imparted everything she had learned in the gospel choir at New Hope Baptist. Those days at the church must have been happy ones, to help sustain his abandoned family while he ...

Frank picks up his glass, watching the amber liquid swirl around inside, and lifts it to his lips for another mouthful.

That's when he spots the concierge escorting his ex-wife - and then ex-girlfriend, and then adversary - to the table with the daughter who had become his pride and joy. He stands up to greet them, knowing that ready or not, the day had come for him and Emma to see each other and talk for the first time in almost 19 years. Would it be a day of reconciliation or reckoning?

"Hello Emma," he holds out his hand to greet her after hugging Sparkle and pecking her on the cheek. But as he feared, Emma wouldn't take his hand. Wouldn't give him that little girl smile that had melted him so many times before. Wouldn't even return his civil hello, even if it smelled of scotch for courage.

She turns away and flees the restaurant. Damn! As she does, Sparkle apologizes.

"Daddy ... I'm sorry," she says. "I'll go get her."

"Sparkle, maybe this wasn't the best idea," Frank says. "I probably got my hopes a little too high after so long."

"Daddy, no!" Sparkle says, squeezing his hand. "This can't go on. I'm getting exhausted with all the ... I feel like I'm cheating on Momma! We're a family. An odd one, but we belong to each other, and I'm going to get her. OK? Please don't go."

Frank nods self-consciously as he scans the dining room. People were looking, but only because there he was a white man having dinner with two Black women in a nice restaurant like that. He sits down again, while Sparkle goes after Emma. He prays that Emma won't fire off any of her put downs if she comes back, that she'll cooperate and be calm for Sparkle's sake. Heaven only knows what the onlookers would think about that. Probably would say "See? Now this is why the colored and the Whites shouldn't get together. Too many differences in their culture. And it's a shame, because no one thinks of the kids."

After Emma returns, they all settle into their seats while the waiter hands out menus and pours the water.

"Well, this is a treat," Frank smiles after the waiter leaves. "Lunch with two of my favorite ladies. Sparkle, you're turning into a beautiful woman. Emma, as usual, you're radiant."

Emma looks so beautiful, sitting there with her long hair sliding of her shoulders. Her skin looks moist and smooth, and those eyes that sent him spinning as a scrawny boy back in Michigan only sweeps over him indifferently now. They do not rest on him, but offer their joys to every other person, plant and piece of furniture in the room. In a surprise turn, she looks Frank straight in the eyes with her own and says:

"Let's get one thing straight, Frank!" Emma says, sitting her slim curves up straighter and waving her finger at him. "After this trip out to California, neither one of us is leaving with any souvenirs. No panties for you, and no tears for me!"

The waiter had returned with menus, and heard what Emma said. The menus slide out of his hands, slapping loudly on the floor after Emma says what she says. No one from the other tables notice, and Sparkle gets up to help him pick up the menus. He stutters his apology.

Frank rubs his eyes and searches for words. She still has the gift of reading his mind. How does she do that?

"Well, I'm ... glad you said that Emma, because I came here to be a gentleman," Frank says, turning to the waiter to take his menu. "And I never liked making those beautiful eyes cry. Believe me; I'm sorry. You won't have any trouble from me this time."

Frank is not a fool. He knows that one 'sorry' after so much history will never do. But maybe it will be a start? Emma doesn't answer. She opens her menu, hiding her face behind it.

Eventually, lunch moves forward. It's uncomfortable, as they lurch from topic to topic, trying to fin neutral ground that won't embarrass Frank, confuse Sparkle or upset Emma. Business! Since Frank owns a series of businesses, small shopping malls and supper clubs, they talk about that.

"And how is everything, Daddy?"

"It's pretty good for now, darling," he says, sawing off a piece of sirloin with his steak knife. "I do better in Los Angeles, Oakland and such. Florida, where I have a little condo, is, OK. But maybe someday Miami business will really blossom."

"Well, what would change things, Dad?"

As Frank starts to answer Sparkle's question, he notices that Emma has checked her watch three times and is fidgeting. She is probably nervous and needs a cigarette. He flags down the waiter and asks for an ashtray.

"Dad!" Sparkle says. "Don't encourage Mom. She needs to stop smoking, and I've said so. Momma, do you have to do that during our meal?" She adds the last part gently, tapping Emma's arm.

"Well, look who's nagging now?" Emma says, drawing something that looks like a long change purse out of her handbag. She undoes the brass closure and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. And a lighter, so Frank doesn't have to try to help her. She looks up at the waiter and smiles, saying 'thank you,' as he leaves the ashtray for her. Then she quickly looks at Frank and mumbles her appreciation. But the smile goes away.

At least she doesn't scowl, Frank thinks. But she does pause before lighting her cigarette, and changes her mind. She leaves both the stick and the lighter in the ash tray. Sparkle thanks her and kisses her on the cheek. And for the first time in years, Frank feels a pang of jealousy toward Sparkle. She got to touch and kiss Emma, even if it was in the purest way. And Emma allowed the privilege after being asked not to do something she really wanted! Maybe if he talked about something she did like. He gives it a shot.

"So what about you, Emma?" Frank says. "How is the clothing store business?"

Everyone is silent, as the last remaining participant is invited into the conversation. He sees Emma look at Sparkle, then her sapphire ring, then touch her hair and sip her water before pushing her grilled vegetables around on her plate.

"It is satisfactory," she nods, still avoiding his look. At least she hadn't brushed him off!

"Well, I only ask because I had heard about the riots and -"

"And nothing more," Emma says, pointedly, not even looking at Frank. "God provides. I'm satisfied, and that's that."

Frank sighs and eats another piece of steak. Well, that was that.

When they talk about Sparkle, both Frank and Emma talk at each other through Sparkle. She cannot get them to answer each others' questions as Emma asks for more cold, icy water and Frank orders a Dr. Pepper. Watching the waiter pour the drink over a glass of ice and listening to it fizz, pop and roar quietly as the head froths and wanes makes Emma smile a little. It makes Frank smile, too.

"What?" Sparkle asks, watching her parents. Emma shakes her head and says it's nothing.

"Momma, you're sitting here smiling like I don't know what. And Daddy you're worse," Sparkle prods. "It must be something."

Sparkle fails, even though Emma keeps glancing at Frank's glass and grinning softly.

"This is basically how we met," Frank says at last, making Emma look up, and look at him at last. "It all started at a Woolworth's lunch counter in Detroit, in the mid- 1950s. Do you want to hear the story?"

"You better tell it!" Sparkle says, putting down her fork. Emma resists, asking Sparkle if she doesn't have a meeting, recording session or rehearsal to get to. Then Sparkle hugs and kisses Emma on the cheek, pleading for a 'yes,' for Frank to go ahead. More privileges he doesn't have, Frank thinks! More jealousy! Where are these feelings coming from?! He shakes off that feeling to begin.

"This was 1955, at the Woolworth's lunch counters," Frank says. He takes another long sip, and the ice cubes clank in his glass as he sets it down and leans forward for Sparkle and Emma to hear him whisper. "When the country was still a little crazy and you had lunch counters for whites and ones for the colored ladies and gentlemen."

"Blacks, Dad," Sparkle corrects him.

"I'm sorry, Baby. I'll try to remember," he says. Emma bats her eyelashes at his term of endearment for Sparkle, unaware that they were so close.

"Well, it didn't work, because on a stuffy summer's day, when all the fans were going and the windows were open to court the breezes, in walks this willowy girl. A ... Black girl walking in with her big. big, huge mean-looking brother -"

"Stop right there, Frank," Emma says. "My brother Charles is a gentleman, and he was a gentleman back then, too. He did what all responsible brothers did for their kid sisters back then."

"Including beat the stuffing out of white boys running for their lives?"

"In the Woolworth's?!" Sparkle asks, jaw dropping.

"Frank, you're not telling it correctly! Stop making Charles out to be -"

"Sparkle, she's right," Frank says. "He didn't beat me up in the Woolworth's. That came later." Sparkle scoops more rice onto her fork and into her mouth, eagerly waiting for more details. Frank obliges.

"So this girl and her 'gentleman brother,' sit down at the lunch counter for coloreds - Blacks, and I wait for my chance. He leaves after a few minutes, and I saw my chance."

"You walked up to her?" Sparkle asks, while Emma eats and watches the room.

"No. I asked the attendant for my counter to pass a note to the attendant for the ...Black ... counter. I said, 'Can you please pour that pretty girl in the yellow polka-dot skirt a lemonade on this hot day?'"

"Oooh, Daddy!" Sparkle tilts her head to the side. Emma just chews and waits for the details to unfold. "So what happened?"

"A note comes back and says. 'No thank you,' just like that! So I wrote back and said 'Well, what would she like?' And Sparkle, you wouldn't believe the note writing that went back and forth!"

_She drinks colas. _

_Well, then a Coca-Cola. _

_She doesn't drink Coca-Colas. _

_A Pepsi?_

_No. _

_A Dr. Pepper? _

_Well, OK__. _

"Finally!" Sparkle smiles, nudging Emma on her elbow and winking.

"So the soda jerk guy pours your mother a tall glass of Dr. Pepper over lots of ice, and then I get a note back that says, 'Too much ice, but thank you!"

"Momma, that's sounds so much like you!" Sparkle laughs and claps her hands. "Well, what happened next? Did you talk to her? Man, this sounds like the start of a fairy tale."

"It was no fairy tale, Sparkle," Emma says, finally. "Unless we're talking about the Brothers Grimm."

"Momma, just a few more minutes, please!" Emma shrugs as Frank clears his throat and continues.

"Her brother came back and that pretty much shut down all communication between us for two weeks," Frank says. "It was only by sheer dumb luck that I saw her again."

Emma steps in more forcefully this time.

"Frank and Sparkle, this isn't really a fun topic for me right now, you know?" She says. "If you two want to get together and talk, that's fine. But relive the crazy past without me!"

Frank backs down and they finish lunch without any more talk about the 1950s and how he met Emma. He pays and walks them to the entrance to the bathroom, where Emma turns around to face him.

"I have to - freshen up a little," Emma says, announcing their split for the time being. But Frank shakes his head, taking in the frame of her face, and light makeup, which looks good on her.

"Not really," Frank says. "I think you look great as you are."

Sparkle accepts the compliment for Emma, who simply thanks Frank for lunch, wishes him a good evening and walks into the ladies room. She doesn't take his extended hand. So Sparkle hugs and kisses her father extra hard to make up for Emma's coldness. He says goodbye and walks out, heading to the elevator. He's actually staying upstairs while in Los Angeles, until his two-day visit with Sparkle is up, and he'll drive up to Santa Monica.

When he gets upstairs, he notices that he's been smiling softly. It really was good to see Emma again, even if their conversation was abrupt and stilted the whole time. As he gets off the elevator and walks to his room, he wonders if Emma will think about him during her trip.

Tomorrow, he'll get to find out, he thinks, because Sparkle had arranged a breakfast for all of them, and had invited Stixx.


End file.
